


Before the Snow

by missgnutmeg



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 11:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11289606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgnutmeg/pseuds/missgnutmeg
Summary: In an effort to avoid his seasonal depression, Steve decides to accept an anonymous invitation left in his apartment.





	1. Open Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Written entirely while listening to Dan Mangan's "Oh Fortune", "Nice Nice Very Nice" and "Postcards and Daydreaming" albums. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hviiGCkVMiY&list=PL2449AB06F309C5E2

The cold winds of November are usually the worst for Steve. They hint of coming winter, of months of bleak weather and dirty, slushy streets.

Of icy water filling the cockpit.

He adjusts his jacket collar, lifting it to better shield his neck as continues down the street to his new apartment. New. He can't help but scoff at the word. It seems like he's getting a new apartment every few months since becoming an Avenger. He's a successful vagabond. A man who has everything but a home. Or so the world seems to tell him on those rare occasions he's googled himself at Natasha or Tony's insistence. All his other searches are Bucky related. Hard to say if it's due to habit from their previous search or from loneliness. It had nearly gutted him when Bucky had asked to be frozen again.

Frozen.

Steve shivers as he digs into his pocket for his key. This new place seems like the last place someone would want to live from the outside. Probably why Steve chose it. Well, that and his chequebook. He can't afford too much more. He could've stayed at the new Avengers facility but his doctor had suggested that making the team his whole life would not be healthy.

He climbs the steps two at a time until he reaches his apartment on the fifth floor. But his hand pauses as the key comes to the lock. The familiar click isn't there. Had he left it open when he'd gone out for groceries? Steve pushes the door open slowly. It wouldn't be the first time he's had an apartment broken into. Is it an enemy again? Maybe just a robber? He steps in cautiously.

In the end, there's nothing. Just his apartment as he's left it.

He shakes his head. He's getting bad. Distracted. He expects enemies at every turn and in doing so becoming his own worst enemy as he neglects simple self care. What would Bucky say? Peggy?

The two grocery bags are placed on the counter and he begins to unpack them. It's when he opens the cupboard to put the box of pasta away that he finally notices something new. Something he definitely didn't put there. An envelope. The paper is pale lavender and his name is written in dark ink, the scrawl spidery and reminiscent of his first grade teacher back in the twenties.

He takes it carefully. This seems like something Natasha might do, but it's obviously not her. This isn't how she does things.

After slow deliberation, Steve finally opens the envelope. It isn't even sealed, really, just folded in to keep the paper inside. The strange, small note on thick paper that clearly has had great care taken for it. And yet all it has is one sentence that doesn't seem to say anything at all. "Are you still tired of sleeping with the light on?" And underneath it is a date, time, and co-ordinates.

His first instinct is to take it to Natasha, see what she thinks. But as his fingers run over the paper, he changes his mind. Someone went through a lot of effort to send him the invitation. That's what it is, isn't it? He'll check it out himself. Maybe if he's lucky, it'll be a trap.

 

XXX

 

Steve had checked out the location twice before the actual date and time on the paper. After the first time, he had to double check with his computer and then a device borrowed from the team to be sure his phone was right about the location.

So here he was, a cloudy day in late November, idling through the titles on the bookshelves of a secondhand store.

He allows himself to be amused by a book of recipes from the 50s and 60s (and be bemusedly horrified by the number of recipes that ask for either canned meat or strawberry gelatin) as he waits for something or someone to happen.

That something ends up being a quiet voice, a shoulder barely brushing against his. "Turn the light off, Captain. You needn't be afraid."

But when Steve looks up, he's alone. No one is even close enough to have touched him. He furrows his brow. His attention returns to the book, where there's a new envelope waiting on his page. He takes it and places the book back on the shelf. It goes into his pocket as he leaves the store and stays there until he's sitting in a nearby coffee shop with a latte. He opens it carefully to find the same scrawling handwriting.

"Stop living in fear. Stop living in the past. Your days are numbered."

That seems like a threat this time. And yet. Steve shakes his head, pocketing the envelope again.

 

XXX

 

Eating is a terrible amount of effort. This is something Steve had always known, though in his youth he was so grateful for whatever food his mother could get for them that he'd do so obediently. It didn't matter how hard it was or how sick he felt, he would fight it down to encourage his body to better strength and health. Funny that it took experiments and science to bring that on. And then food, calories, became even more important for fueling his overpowered system. But it took some of the joy out of it. Days would go by were he'd do little better than protein shakes because cooking and serving and even chewing seemed like too much.

So returning to his apartment to find dinner made; a plate of beautiful looking roast, greens, and some sort of seeded bread. There's a wine glass and a clay bottle with some sort of drink. After a sniff, he detects alcohol and something sweet. Honey?

But there's no one. He's sure of it as he searches the apartment. Yet the meat and bread is hot. And it's tempting. It looks very good. But it's like as not to be poisoned, the way his life is. He knows it's better to play safe. He reaches for the plate, to through it out.

That's when the hand appears. Slender fingers grab his wrist. Steve's eyes move quickly up the connected arm to see the man beside him.

"Loki." The soldier hisses.

The plate falls, but a wave of one elegant hand stops it from hitting the floor. "Captain, I spent much effort on that. Hrienn is not so easy to acquire on midgaurd as it once was."

The comment gets Steve's full attention, forcing him to study the man beside him. Loki's not dressed for a fight. He's not even wearing the more casual armoured robes he'd had on in the helicarrier all those years ago. This is simple clothing, comfortable. Slacks and a nice shirt. A loose jacket and a scarf. All the colours are dull greys and greens and browns. Natural looking. As though he meant to blend in with something.

"So you're feeding me? Why?"

Loki smiles, the plate goes back on the table and a second joins it. Magic, no doubt. "My days are numbered, too. I tire of eating alone."

The message in the second envelope repeats in Steve's mind. He takes a step back. "What game are you playing?" He hasn't seen this man since Thor took him back to Asgard. In fact, as far as Steve knew Loki had died when that kingdom was attacked.

"I have yet to decide. Care to join me in the meantime?" Loki gestures to the table before moving to take the further seat. He pours them both drinks from jug of liquor. It's the colour of honey, and considering the smell, Steve decides it must be mead.

But Steve continues to stand awkwardly, watching. So Loki simply begins to eat. He cuts into the dark meat, revealing the pink inside and it really does look amazing. It's not long before Steve can feel his mouth watering between the scents and the display. Slowly he steps forward to take the seat across from Loki but he still pauses before joining.

Loki rolls his eyes. "It is not poisoned. If I wanted you dead, I would not need such low means." As if to emphasize his point, he leans forward and takes a slice off of Steve's steak, chewing with exaggerated motion.

Steve sighs. "I'm sorry. Thank you." With that, he takes his first careful bite. It's ten times better than it had smelled. Soon he's eating heartily, taking everything Loki offers. There's a sauce of red berries that reminds him a little of cranberry, though it's clearly not that. He had thought the greens to be a salad, but he finds them to be a mix of plants he's not entirely familiar with that have been blanched and seasoned with oil and salt. He thinks he might see kale or spinach, maybe some nettle? But he decides not to ask just yet. He worries Loki will take offence somehow.

While he's never entirely certain where the food is coming from - is it magic food or is Loki transporting it from somewhere? - Steve enjoys every last bit. And for the first time in a long while he feels full, not just fed. Once they finish, he moves to clean the dishes, but a wave of Loki's hand has them disappear again.

"Today you have been my guest. Tomorrow we will speak." Loki's green eyes focus directly on Steve, colder than the ice he hates.

"Why not now?" But the sentence isn't even out before Loki has disappeared. Steve frowns. What is he getting into?


	2. Bluffing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki makes his next appearance.

It's almost Christmas, another reason to feel alone. Gifts aren't exactly something the Avengers do. Sam might try to drag him out. Maybe Bucky would, too, if he remembered Christmas. And wasn't frozen.

The first decorations had appeared in store windows over a month ago. Dracula and candy canes made Steve wince. That was one thing they definitely did better in his day. At least the snow had held off, so far. Even in these first days of December, the only snow has been the kind they spray on to the department store window trees. Steve is secretly grateful for that. 

What Steve is less grateful for, however, is Loki's apparently very loose definition of 'tomorrow'. It's been over a week since that random surprise dinner and there's been no sign of the Asgardian. Steve is starting to think it must have all been some trick or prank that he just doesn't get.

Gloved fingers slip over metal doorbars and he pushes into the store. He's supposed to be looking for Christmas gifts but none of this says Sam or Natasha or Tony. It all says pricetags and commercialism. Still, he goes through the motions. What else can he do? This is what people think he's supposed to be doing.

"It's quite ridiculous, isn't it?" A familiar soft voice asks as he passes through the men's department. Steve turns to catch Loki's reflection in a mirror as Loki plays with an American flag necktie around his neck. "All these people, all their expectations."

Not wanting to make a scene, Steve moves closer and pitches his own voice low. "Is that why you never came?"

Loki grins and shakes his head before pulling the tie off only to drop the slender loop over Steve's head. "I forget that you morals take words so literally. It is tomorrow now to every other yesterday."

Steve scoffs, sensing a joke or slight against him he doesn't quite get but probably will later. "Fine. You're here now. What did you want to say and why couldn't you say it at dinner?"

"It's far too easy to be righteous while you eat." Loki explains as he adjusts the tie to fit Steve properly. "You should consider wearing something that is not sportswear. It would do the world a great favour."

A compliment? Must be desperate. "What do you want, Loki?"

Something about the question seems to harden something in the Asgardian. "I want to understand. We have something in common that I know of in no other and I want to use that."

"What?" It's both confusion and curiousity.

Loki gets close, his knuckles bump against Steve's sternum. "Both of us were abandoned by our fathers as infants. And both of us have left nothing but blood and wreckage in our wake."

Steve opens his mouth to argue but the man before him is gone before a single word can come up. Still, the statement is upsetting. He wasn't abandoned, his father went to war and died. And any carnage behind him has been in the effort of trying to stop worse. Hasn't it?

 

XXX

 

Days are spent trying to erase the question from his mind but the evil seed planted by Loki seemed only to grow like a dark and dangerous tree with low branches overshadowing everything else. He spends endless hours on his phone, using google to search the casualties of anything he's ever done. The more he sees, the more he agrees with Loki. He hasn't been a force of good, only destruction. Chaos. Even among his own friends. Isn't Bucky the very best example of that? He had been selfishly glad to see his friend alive, but how much gentler would death have been compared to what he'd lived through.

Guilt, a longtime companion, gains strenghth and turbulence in Steve's chest. Is this what Loki wants, to render him useless? Because it's working.

And yet, there are no attacks. Not even sightings. As far as the others know or care, he's still dead.

After about a week, Steve begins to wonder if he hadn't just imagined the whole thing. Maybe the whole time jump, culture shock thing had finally gotten to him and he was hallucinating about the first enemy he faced after his waking. But that makes even less sense then all of it being real.

He spends his time with his nose buried in notepads and sketchpads instead of at the gym or keeping up on the news. It's not like him. Maria Hill even says it to is face one day but it just makes him wonder what she really knows about him at all, aside from what the files tell her. What does anyone really know?

"They can tell you're bluffing." The sudden voice nearly causes Steve to veer his motorcycle straight off the highway. Luckily, his well-trained reflexes make it more of a slight sway. And it prepares him (barely) for the arms that appear around his waist and the body pressed against his back. The extra warmth is almost appreciated against the December dusk. Almost.

"Loki. Are you sure you're not trying to kill me?" Steve glances back only briefly, keeping his eyes on the road and the cars about him. 

Loki chuckles. "Not presently. But I'll like as not kill you tomorrow. Once I'm done with you."

Despite the laughter, it brings a chill to Steve's bones. Not that he didn't know he was being played with, but to have it said so easily?

"I appreciate the leather and jeans, by the way. The fit is much more suited to your physique." Loki seems cheerful today, playful. It sets Steve off. And he gets even more uncomfortable when one of those slender hands slide down to squeeze his thigh. In fact, it causes him to steer off at the first exit and the bike slides to a stop on it's side as he tackles the trickster to the pavement.

They wrestle, Steve getting in any punch he can. It seems a surprising amount considering Loki's superior strength. But soon enough, Steve finds himself flat against the road with Loki straddling his hips and holding down his wrists on either side of his head.

"There it is." Loki shows his teeth in a wolfish grin. "There's the entropy inside. Do you feel it? I feel the same way, Captain. The exact same. I want to rip the world apart."

Steve lurches, trying to free his hands but he can't. "Pretty sure it's just you I'm after right now."

"Just because I know how to pull it out of you. I could take many things from you." Loki leans in, apparently smelling him. Steve turns his face away in disgust when that chiseled nose brushes against his neck.

But it's not disgust at what Loki's doing but what he's saying. He's right. How easy was it to get Steve into a frenzy? How easy would it be to demand more. Steve realizes something else, too. He realizes that he and Loki are both standing on this knife's edge. Only instead of pushing him off, Loki is offering his hand. So they can be something better together. 

Steve looks up again, meeting Loki's eyes. "What is this?" 

"I'm so tired of sleeping with the light on to find monsters when all I find is me. I refuse this reality."

"Loki?" Steve struggles to understand, to see through these childish metaphors but the Asgardian seems trapped within his own words.

And then he's gone. Steve sits up slowly, brushing away slush from his skin and clothes and going to rescue his bike from the ditch it found. He wonders how long this game will continue. He wonders if he'll ever learn how to play.


End file.
